


let's play a game (throw your life away)

by GalaxyGhosty



Series: Bullet Holes in My Shot Glass [1]
Category: Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe, Demon Deals, Gen, Russian Roulette
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-16
Updated: 2018-09-16
Packaged: 2019-07-13 06:40:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,452
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16012391
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GalaxyGhosty/pseuds/GalaxyGhosty
Summary: AU. “Have a seat, Mr. Brody. Let's play a game.”





	let's play a game (throw your life away)

**Author's Note:**

> This is just a short piece that I cranked out in about 2 hours after having a conversation with my really awesome and amazing pal, Adam. 
> 
> So, in true fashion, this is for him. He doesn't have an Ao3 but I wanted to post this anyway so everyone can appreciate it.
> 
> It IS open for more, but I don't know if I'll actually get to it. This became an entire AU in about 2 hours and I didn't want it to, but here we are, and here I suffer. This is my life as a writer.
> 
> Hope you guys enjoy! I know it's different from what I normally write, so I'd love to hear your thoughts :)

He's handsome, the man. A fine suit tailored perfectly to a muscled, sharp form. He's sitting at the table like he's been waiting for decades, not bored or restless in the slightest. Just patient. This should have been his first clue.

But it was not his first clue. Chase had gotten through college on a prayer and the charity of friends who happened to be taking the same classes. He isn't smart by any means, never has pretended to be. He got a woman knocked up at twenty, after all, and did it again two years later. 

So two kids, an ex-wife, and a divorce later, Chase remains about fifteen seconds from drinking himself into a coma at any given second. 

But the man—the man at the casino. The place smells of expensive liquor and cigar smoke. It smells of sweat and perfume and sex all wrapped into a shitty Christmas present from the relatives that really don't like you. It's about as upscale as a casino could be, and yet, Chase still hates it—and yet he's still here. 

This man looks at him, again, as though he's been waiting for decades and Chase is late to the party. 

The _click_ and _ching_ of slot machines reverberate behind him, the droll of dice on tables, murmur of voices, cards being slung all accompany him as he approaches this ethereal beast of a human. He can't be human, not in the slightest bit. No human on earth could have this unnatural, deathly glow—ghoulish, gaunt, but still so strikingly handsome. 

“Want to play a game?” he asks, voice like smoke, a whisk of hot lies and sultry secrets—deep and low in his throat. In front of him is another seat, an empty glass, two ice cube resting inside, dribbles of water beginning to melt. Condensation beads on the outside, but Chase feels like the one who's sweating.

Chase's mouth doesn't seem to want to move, rendered frozen by this devil, this monster who clearly wears human skin just for show. A smile curls onto his lips, cruel and unnatural, as he gestures to the seat in front of him. “What have you to lose, hm? A couple of bucks, some dignity? Nothing that can't be won back, surely?”

“Don't got any money,” Chase says, his voice weak, strained. “I'll pass, dude.”

Those eyes flicker, glitter, with unusual intent. He reaches beneath the table, withdrawing a bottle of alcohol—whiskey, the amber color sharp against the square bottle. He pours some into the glass, the ice floating to the top.

He gestures again. “Have a seat, Mr. Brody. Let's play a game.” 

The second clue is Chase realizing that this man knows his name without him ever speaking it. But again, he's no smart man, and never pretends to be. 

Easing himself down into the seat, he stares at the alcohol for a long moment, his throat dry, craving it. The man gestures at it, indicating he should drink, and Chase really doesn't have much to lose at this point.

Picking up the glass, Chase takes a long drink from it, the burn sharper than he remembers whiskey being, like its scraping his throat as it goes all the way down. 

The man watches him with heavy eyes. “Call me Dark. Are you ready to play a game?”

“I don't have any money,” Chase repeats, leaning on the table. “I don't have anything to give.”

He swears the light in the room dim as Dark rests his elbows on the table, chin resting on his fingers. “Oh, little bunny, you _always_ have something to give, and something to gain. If you could have anything in the world...what would you like?”

It's a trick question, and he knows it. His third clue that he should go. But he's not smart. Has never pretended to be. “Don't think you're getting paid enough to care about that.”

“Humor me,” Dark drawls, and there's that heat again, but it's cold. So cold. The kind of cold that makes your skin burn. “Anything.”

Chase takes another drink from the whiskey glass. “Dunno. My family, I guess. I'd like it all back.”

“Are they dead?”

“Oh, god no,” Chase laughs with no mirth. “Got a girl pregnant in college, married her, got her pregnant again. Now I've got two kids. I was a deadbeat. Couldn't hold a job, even after college. She left me, took the kids with her. I'd give anything to have them back.” 

“How sad,” he says, like a rehearsed script. “Poor, sad, Chase Brody. Left all alone with no one to care for him, or to care for. He'll spend the rest of his life alone, drinking and and crying until one day, it all goes...” 

Dark snaps his fingers, a loud, harrowing sound despite the noise around him. Chase jolts, staring at him, but Dark is still smiling. 

“I can give it back to you,” Dark speaks in a hush, like a dirty little secret. “Just a touch here, a little shake there. Simple, really. Your family, back. The job of your dreams. A blissful happiness you could only...have dreamed of. How does that sound?”

“Like you're full of shit,” Chase stares down at the empty glass. He doesn't stare at it long, though, before Dark's filling it up again. “I'm good.”

Despite this, he's already drinking from it again.

“I will give this all back to you,” Dark goes on, “if you play a game with me, and win. It's a simple game. One that even you could understand.”

“Why would you?” Chase fires back, the whiskey coming back in the form of some lukewarm courage. “Why give me something when I offer you nothing?”

“Little bunny,” he hums, “of course I get _something_. You see, we're going to make a wager. I am going to put up the return of everything you love.”

“And what am _I_ going to put up?” 

Dark shrugs his shoulders, nonchalant and almost...mocking. “Anything you want, really. Money, of which you don't have. Sometimes, people offer me their hearts, their eyes, their skin. Things I don't have use for, but can often appreciate the beauty of.”

He begins to tap his nail on the table, and with that rhythm, Chase feels...a burning sensation in his left eye. He immediately reaches up to rub at it. 

“You do have pretty eyes,” Dark comments dryly. The tapping stops, and so does the burn. 

Chase's heart thrums in his ears, fear beginning to spread throughout his chest. “Look, I—I don't want any part in your black magic shit, dude. I'm done. Thanks for the drink.”

He moves to stand up, he really does, but something...tugs at him. Hard and cold, almost...iron. Chase looks down, but sees nothing, nothing holding him there, and yet...

_Daddy?_

...What?

Right against the shell of his ear, a burst of cold, soft and breathy, _“Please don't leave us, Daddy.”_

Against the other. _“We miss you so much, Daddy.”_

A tug at the bottom of his shirt. Chase covers his ears. “Stop! What the hell are you doing?”

Then, in a flash, the cold is gone. Chase looks down, moves his foot experimentally. It responds with no qualm.

Dark stares at him, amused. “Are you ready to offer me a wager?”

Clue four that he should get up and leave. He lets out a nervous laugh instead. 

He takes a moment to just...look at the man across from him. Other than being neat and orderly, he's got...a radiance to him. Black hair swooping into his face, curling a fraction at the tips, piercing eyes that appear red in the glow. A clearly defined jaw, sharp and angled, with stubble. His skin has a greyish hue, reminding him so much of a ghoul yet again, or some sort of Frankenstein's monster. 

Still breathtakingly gorgeous, and Chase hates this observation.

Downing the rest of the whiskey, he realizes that Dark...is still waiting for his answer. Chase shakes his head. “I don't have anything I want to give.”

“Nothing?” Dark presses. “You have _nothing_ to give in this situation? Nothing you could do without for the sake of your _family_?”

He laughs, low, mocking. “Pathetic. I could give you...so much. And all I ask is that you offer me a little something, inconsequential, but it seems that you don't have even that. A man with _nothing_ to lose, and yet he can't offer _anything_.”

Chase grinds his teeth. “How about my fucking soul?”

That familiar chill ghosts up his spine, like a hand counting the individual bones, pleased. He fights off the shiver that comes with it.

“Your soul?” Dark asks, fixing him with that look again, a mixture of unbridled _want_ and curiosity. “You'd be willing to offer that?”

“It's...” Chase rubs his fingers along the condensation of the glass. “It's the only thing I have that's...worth anything. Maybe?”

Dark rolls his neck out, a resounding crackle in the casino. Everything feels muted now, underwater, and he seems...considerate about this option.

“Very well,” he says, like a praise. “I can...certainly agree with that. Your family for your soul. So let's begin the game.” 

Reaching underneath the table again, Dark withdraws a gun. He sets it down in the middle of the table, reaching into his lapel pocket. He withdraws a single bullet, flicking out the chamber. His smooth, long fingers load one into it, before giving it a spin. 

“The rule is simple,” Dark smiles with too many teeth. “You spin. You shoot. I spin. I shoot. Four rounds. If you don't die, you will get your family back. If _I_ don't die, I take your soul. Agreeable?”

Drink himself into a coma, or bet on a game. Both will probably result in him dying. It just depends on how he wants to go.

Licking his lips, Chase picks up the gun. It feels too heavy in his hands, so much stronger than the stupid Nerf guns he fires at his kids whenever he gets to see them. He gives the chamber a hard spin, placing it against his temple.

Dark watches him with hunger, eagerness in his form. Chase closes his eyes, ignoring the trembling in his hand as his finger hovers over the trigger.

With a little squeeze, he waits for the _bang_. 

Nothing.

He lets out an uneven, shaky breath, and Dark holds out a hand. Chase hands the gun over.

Why is no one concerned about a gun in a public space? Why is no one curious about the two men sitting off in the corner? Why is any of this happening?

With no hesitation, Dark spins the chamber, and holds the gun against his head, never breaking eye contact as he pulls the trigger. 

Nothing. 

He hands it back. Chase swallows the lump forming in his throat, as he spins again, and with less hesitation than before, but still feeling it, he pulls the trigger.

Nothing.

This goes back and forth for two more rounds. Chase spins. Dark spins. Chase shoots. Dark shoots. It never goes off.

On the final round, Chase pulls. Nothing. He glances down at the gun, seeing the bullet in its chamber, the next one. He holds his breath, hands shaking with how fucking close he was. 

The palpitations of his heart roar in every part of him as he hands the gun over. He watches Dark's lips curl again, taunting. He's so amused with something, and Chase can't figure out what it is.

He doesn't spin. His eyes fade from the red hue to something murky, clouded and black as he pulls the trigger.

_Bang_. The bullet explodes from its chamber, and Chase watches Dark's head cock to the side, but there's no blood. He sees clearly the hole in plain view against his temple, like its gone clean through _paper_ and not skin. Chase tries to scoot the chair back, just to get away, but Dark calmly sets the gun down on the table. 

Slowly, the hole stitches itself back together. 

With a few blinks, Dark's eyes return to...somewhat normal, a brighter red than before. “Well. It looks like I didn't die.”

Chase resists the urge to vomit. Dark tilts his head at him. “What's wrong, little bunny? You look so scared. It hurts to lose the game, I know. But sometimes, when you've lost everything...you can't get it back.”

“That's not fair!” Chase squeaks out, knocking the gun off the table. “What the hell are you! There was no way for me to win!”

“I never said it was a fair game,” Dark replies, batting his eyes slow, lazy. “Oh come now, little bunny. It's not over yet. We can still make one more agreement, if you'd like. My game is not generous, but I am a _caring_ man. So what do you say?”

Chase puts his head in his hands. “This can't—this can't be happening. Fuck. Fuck.”

“There, there Mr. Brody,” his voice soothes. “Here's my deal. I will be so kind as uphold my end of the bargain. I'll give you back your family, leaving you to your normal life, soul in tact. In exchange, you do one little thing for me.”

Dark reaches down and picks the gun back up. He swipes a hand over it, and there are...glistening, silver bullets loading up every chamber.

“You kill a little pest for me,” he pushes the gun over to him. “But here's the catch. You make him fall in love with you. I need him to suffer before he dies, I need him to see the one he loves rip his life from him as he leaves this world. Then, I'll leave you alone. You'll never see me again.”

“I can't kill someone!” Chase retaliates. “Like—I can't—”

“Then I'll take your soul now,” Dark sits back. “Up to you, really. The life of one little wasp, of whom you don't even know, or your eternity, away from your family.”

Chase stares down at the gun. “You want to use me.”

“You've got the cute little face for it,” Dark simpers, pleased. “What will it be?”

He sees Sam and Grayson in his mind. What would they do if Daddy never came home?

“Who is it?” Chase whispers, his fingers wrapping around the cold metal. “What's his name?”

There's that smile again, cold and unforgiving.

“You'll find out,” Dark hums. “Enjoy your whiskey, little bunny. You're going to need it.”

A stinging wind washes over his neck, almost like a jeering laugh, haunting in his ears, as the lights flicker out.

Silence. 

He's alone.

**Author's Note:**

> Comments and kudos are always appreciated! Thank you so much! Please visit me over at voidskelly.tumblr.com!


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